


let me see your beauty broken down (like you would do for one you love)

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Series: 31 Days of Jonsa [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13829949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: One night, under the cover of darkness, when it seemed easier to ask questions he would never dare ask in the cold light of day, he was lying on his stomach, arms folded around his pillow, watching her brush out her long red hair, and the words escaped his mouth before he could stop himself: "What happened to you?"She froze, her brush tumbling from her hands, and she took her time picking it up from the floor, settling down and resuming her movements, before she asked: "What do you mean?"He took a deep breath, suddenly reluctant, afraid of the damage his words might inflict. "You used to be such a romantic, so bright and optimistic, so convinced that you'd find true love, just like all the girls in the movies."***Written for Day 9 of 31 Days of Jonsa - Friends with benefitsTitle from Leonard Cohen's 'Take This Longing'





	let me see your beauty broken down (like you would do for one you love)

Late May has always been Jon's favourite time of year to watch the sunrise. The air is still crisp, even if the day will grow hot later, and the early quiet makes it feel as though he's the only person awake in the entire world. 

He's standing on the roof terrace in his shirt and boxers, sipping his black coffee, witnessing the city slowly come alive again after another night. Growing up, people always told him he'd never amount to anything, that achieving success simply wasn't meant for an orphan boy.

Now, looking down from his spot on top of the world, he can't help but feel pleased that he's proved them all wrong. It's true, he never would have gotten where he is today without Ned Stark's help, but he still had to do all of the hard work himself.

He closes his eyes, trying not to think about the man who took him in, who helped him become who he is today. Thinking of Ned Stark will only complicate everything he's already trying so hard not to feel, the reason he came out here in the first place, even if it has become a habit.

Inside the penthouse, in his kingsize bed, is the woman he loves, Ned's eldest daughter Sansa. She's in his bed and only last night he fucked her into oblivion, but she's not his. Her love is the only thing money or reputation can't buy, and it's the one thing he truly wants.

He woke up too early, staring into her lovely face, and he could almost imagine her opening her eyes, smiling up at him, wishing him good morning, followed by those three simple words she'd never say to him. There was a lump in his throat, and a fury starting to stir in the pit of his stomach, and he had to get away from her.

It all started one night after a party. It had been years since he'd last seen her, but the attraction had been immediate. The liquor and the shared memories created an intimacy they both found impossible to resist, and it didn't take long before they tumbled into bed together.

It happened several more times over the course of a couple of weeks, and for a while, Jon just enjoyed what they had, not yet wanting to examine what they had too closely, until one day, he woke up to find her sitting perched on the edge of his bed, and she turned to him with a serious look on her face.

Her eyes were distant, her hands neatly folded in her lap. "I like you, Jon," she told him. "And I trust you, you're a good man, but what we have... It can never be more than this. I don't want this... arrangement to end, but I don't want you to get hurt either. Do you understand?"

He nodded, but he should have known there and then that he already wanted more, and that agreeing to this was only going to rip his heart to pieces, but he did anyway.

One night, under the cover of darkness, when it seemed easier to ask questions he would never dare ask in the cold light of day, he was lying on his stomach, arms folded around his pillow, watching her brush out her long red hair, and the words escaped his mouth before he could stop himself: "What happened to you?"

She froze, her brush tumbling from her hands, and she took her time picking it up from the floor, settling down and resuming her movements, before she asked: "What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath, suddenly reluctant, afraid of the damage his words might inflict. "You used to be such a romantic, so bright and optimistic, so convinced that you'd find true love, just like all the girls in the movies."

She huffed. "I'm surprised you even remember any of that." She stayed quiet for a couple of moments, tugging the brush through her tresses. "I guess I just grew up, Jon," she shrugged. "Love doesn't exist, it's just some lie we tell ourselves to make the world a bit more bearable."

All he wanted to do in that moment was to reach out, gather her in his arms and kiss her until he'd convinced her otherwise. He could tell her she was wrong, that he did love her, that he'd do anything for her, offer her the world on a silver platter, but just considering it made him feel like a fool.

So he just closed his eyes, hiding his face in his pillow and muttered: "Maybe it is."

He's had his fair share of being unlucky in love. He believed at one point it was real with Ygritte, but it didn't last, they simply wanted different things out of life. Later, too often he met women who were only interested in his status and his money, not the man behind it.

Even the ones who meant well were only in love with the idea of him, not with the real Jon Snow. But Sansa is different. She knew him when he was nothing, and even though they were distant back then, he always remembered her fondly. She is proud of him, she's told him so on several occasions, but when she looks at him, she sees Jon, and not Mr. Snow of Snow Industries.

How he wishes there was more to her smile than just fondness; that the look in her eyes betrayed more than just friendship; that it meant something when she called out his name when he had her in his bed.

Only last night he had her panting how amazing he was, and while he enjoyed it - oh, how much he likes it when she does that. He's a man, he has an ego - it's not enough. It doesn't matter how many earth-shattering orgasms he gives her, it's not enough to make her love him.

He's given her gifts, dresses, shoes, handbags, jewellery; he's bought her dinner, or breakfast, or lunch. At first it made her uncomfortable, worried that it made her a kept woman, but he reassured her, saying: "We're practically family, Sansa. I could never repay everything your family has done for me. Let me do this for you."

He was aware he was trying to buy her love, but he couldn't stop himself. Sansa deserved the best, and now that it was within his power to give her exactly that, why shouldn't he?

The coffee that's still in his cup has gone cold, so he returns back inside, unable to resist the temptation to wander back into the bedroom.

She's kicked off the sheets, lying on her side, her hair wild and tousled, a pout on her lovely face, her glorious long legs completely bare under the shirt she's wearing - his shirt. 

He joins her in the bed, unable to resist pressing his lips to the edge of her jaw. Against his better judgement, he decides that he wants her, and he knows she won't refuse him. She's always so soft and pliant in his arms.

She's not a morning person though, and she'll grumble if he wakes her up this early, but he's got a better idea. He lowers himself until he's face to face with the narrow stripe of dark red curls on her mound. He nuzzles his face into them. She used to keep her pussy completely bare, but he once told her he has a thing for red pubes, so he likes to think she's doing it for his benefit, though he's sure it's nothing more than a coincidence.

He starts peppering her hips and thighs with kisses, before he pushes her onto her back to get better access. He slides his hands under her ass to lift her legs over his shoulders, kissing her lower lips, and she begins to stir.

He slips his tongue between her folds, lapping at her cunt as if he's parched. He can never get enough of her. He'll gladly spend a couple of hours a night with his head between her thighs. She tastes so sweet, and she moans so delightfully under his attentions, twining her fingers into his hair, curling her toes against the muscles of his back as she locks her thighs around his head.

After that, he'll try to have her as many times as he can manage in one night, and once or twice again the next morning.

Sometimes he handles her roughly, wrapping a hand around her throat as he fucks her wildly, leaving marks all over with his teeth and fingers. When he's in one of those moods, seeing his cum on her face or tits is nearly enough to finish him again, and he'll growl that she's his.

On other occasions, he takes his time kissing and caressing her body, holding her tenderly as he moves inside of her. There always comes a time when he has to bury his face in her neck or between her tits when he does that, needing to hide from her gaze.

Most of the time, he does whatever she wants him to do, eager to please, and desperate to see her fall apart for him. In those moments, when they're so close it's hard for him to tell where he ends and she begins, and she's whimpering his name, it almost feels real. And perhaps he's a madman, or a masochist, but he clings to that sweet illusion as if his life depends on it.

She's awake, and a long moan escapes from her throat. Her back arches off the bed and she fists her hands into his curls. His fingers dig into her soft flesh and he latches onto her clit to drive her to a climax, and soon she's crying out his name. 

He climbs back up her body to kiss her goodmorning. She hums and spreads her legs for him, pushing his boxers off his hips, hands slipping under his shirt. When he sinks into her welcoming heat, he lets his forehead rest against hers, groaning at how good and right she feels around him.  

They'll carry on like this, and he'll die a little bit inside every single day, until she decides she's had enough of this. It's torture, sweet but heart-wrenching torture, but he'd rather have this small part of her than nothing at all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a part 2 from Sansa's POV during the 31 Days, and possibly a part 3, but that will most certainly be after the challenge.


End file.
